Twelve Carat Toothache (out at this time, June third) is Put up Malone’s shortest album to this point. And in accordance with Posty, this can be a deliberate play to withstand the overloaded monitor lists that dominate streaming platforms; “I’ve made numerous compromises, particularly musically, however now I don’t really feel like I wish to anymore,” he mentioned in a Billboard cowl story again in January, “I don’t want a No. 1; that doesn’t matter to me no extra, and at some extent, it did.”
This factors to some completely different potential outcomes for his fourth studio album — now that Put up Malone has certainly scored his a number of No. 1s, ascended to true headliner standing, and have become a “delicate dangerous boy” icon, taking a few of that stress off to make hit after hit might completely work in his favor. If he has nothing to lose at this level in his considerably indestructible profession, then Twelve Carat Toothache might be something he needs it to be, and being liberated all the time sounds fairly modern.
Or, the dearth of preciousness and stress might lead to all of those songs, basically, being filler. Put up Malone might put something out at this level and other people will nonetheless pay attention; so, would that make him work tougher to create a extra private, experimental portrait? Or would he telephone it in with an aimless, principally hole assortment of songs that lack the capability to chop via the noise? The reply, sadly, is the latter — however not and not using a few illuminating moments.
Put up Malone needs you to know that he’s tortured. He has been going via it. He’s not been caring for himself, smoking an unholy quantity of cigarettes, and sabotaging his relationships. From the very first track, “Fame,” he warns the listener with a laundry record of vices that he feels is tied to future: “I used to be born to boost hell/ I used to be born to take capsules/ I used to be born to fuck up.” These darkish and cynical truths aren’t essentially new ideas for Put up, since 2019’s Hollywood’s Bleeding actively doubled down on the tortured excesses of fame.